


Flawed, Petty, Formerly Evil Creature

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Cute, F/F, Fluff, Laughter, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Rowena is having a bad day.





	Flawed, Petty, Formerly Evil Creature

Rowena was in one of her moods.

Lips puckered up in a small pout and eyes narrowed in a childish scowl were a dead giveaway.

She was pissed, a storm, dangerous, deadly, brewing inside, rummaging, raging, a glass full to the brim the lightest touch away from spilling over.

It didn't stop you from saying, in a cheerful, happy tone, "Hey, beautiful," and carelessly plopping down next to her on the couch.

Rowena had a fiery temper, but she wasn't dangerous. Not to you. Never to you.

You were the only person who had the privilege to poke and prod at her when she was like this and live to tell the tale.

Dating the deadliest witch around had its perks.

"Hey," she said in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.

No smile grazed her mouth at the compliment. No light sparked in her eyes. As if she hadn't even registered what you'd said, other than that it was a greeting.

Something was definitely wrong.

"You okay?" you asked. A redundant question, but a — hopefully — good enough opening to a conversation.

"No," Rowena replied, blunt as ever. She rarely sugar-coated things.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She did, however, make them difficult.

You sighed. It seemed you were going to have to fish the truth out of her. "Rowena," you said in that tone that let her know that you knew she wanted to talk and she was being a brat and you would like her to stop because you weren't born yesterday, thank you very much.

Rowena rolled her eyes dramatically, her way of saying she didn't care.

"Want me to leave you alone?"

You hoped she didn't. You hadn't seen her — properly seen her — since last night. She'd woken up early this morning and had gone shopping, leaving a note on the kitchen table to let you know she'd be out for the first half of the day.

And now that she was back, she was grumpy.

You just wanted to spend time with your girl. Was that too much to ask?

"I would very much appreciate that, seeing what a nuisance you are!" Rowena snapped.

She might as well have stabbed you with an iron dagger straight to the heart.

Hurt, lightheaded, you uttered, "Fine," and got up to leave.

Her hand was on your wrist, tight, holding you in place. "Wait. I'm sorry."

She sounded it, and when you looked down, her face was the picture of regret.

"Please, stay."

Shaking her hand off for no reason other than to be pissy, to pay her back for the insult, you sat back down.

"I'm sorry," Rowena repeated. A difficult feat for her, you knew. She rarely — almost never — said sorry. She must have truly meant it. "I didn't mean that."

And just like that, your anger was gone in a flash. You could never stay mad at her for long. Not when she apologized and gave you those puppy eyes that melted your insides into a mush.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

"I'm having a horrible day," she all but whined.

Poor baby. You wanted to pet her head and tell her it was okay, that she was a good girl who deserved nothing but the best, and the bad day could go to hell.

That was a tad too dramatic, so you settled for taking hold of her hand.

"Did you have a nightmare?" you asked softly.

"No. I just slept bad," Rowena said. "I woke up early and couldn't fall back asleep." She pouted. "And I stubbed my toe!"

You instinctively looked down to her feet and cringed. Her pinky toe was redder than her hair.

"Ouch," you said.

"Yes. Ouch," she repeated, deadpan.

"Want me to kiss it better?" you teased.

Her response was a slap to your shoulder.

"Ow!" you exclaimed, laughing. Childish little lady, she was.

Rowena scowled, not happy to be ridiculed on a bad day, and said, "This is serious, Y/N! And there's more. That wee store I love — you know the one — they didn't have the dress I wanted! I wanted the red one and they were all out!"

The shock, the horror!

However would she survive this horrible ordeal?

"Then, on the way home, it started raining!" she continued with her rant. Pointing to her bangs, she said, "It ruined my fringe!"

They looked fine to you. A tad messy, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a comb. Or a finger.

But then, you weren't exactly a hair expert. That, and everything else beauty-related, was Rowena's department.

"And then," she continued dramatically, "I got attacked by a dog!"

That shook you. "What?"

"Uh-huh," Rowena said with a nod, face twisted in an uneasy grimace as she recalled the incident. "That beast from down the street!"

"The Hamiltons' chow chow?"

They were a young family with an arguably big but harmless dog. He wagged his fluffy tail happily every time you walked by and, even though you weren't too fond of animals you weren't acquainted with, you'd gotten to pet him a few times. The Hamilton children often played with him; there never seemed to be any outbursts of violence or similar issues.

"Aye," Rowena said dramatically. "The bloody thing jumped me"

"Did he hurt you?" you asked, concerned.

She shook her head. "He ruined my outfit and got hairs all over me"

Oh. Trying hard not to laugh (the image of her dripping wet and covered in dog hairs was one that would stick with you for a while), as well as roll your eyes (the temptation was hard to resist), you said, "Rowena, he didn't attack you — he was playing with you!"

The dog had a tendency to do that. His size could be quite intimidating, especially to someone as tiny as Rowena, but he wasn't a danger.

She knew that. She knew _him._

"He wanted to _eat_ me!" Rowena said indignantly. "Licked my bloody makeup off!"

You chuckled, unable to hold back. "He was being friendly."

"He was being a menace, is what he was. Like you!" she accused and pointed a finger straight at your chest.

"What did I do?"

"You're siding with a rabid dog over me!"

 _Because the rabid dog's not a drama queen._ "C'mon, babe. You know I'm always on your side," you told her, flashing a playful grin.

"Lies!" she said theatrically. "All lies! You prefer that monster to me."

You couldn't help a laugh. "My little drama queen," you teased and pressed a big, wet kiss to the tip of her nose. She scrunched up her face adorably, and you melted. The woman, as difficult and opinionated as she was, was too damn cute for her own good.

"I feel like you're making fun of me," she said with a pout.

"Never." _Always._ "Just teasing you 'cause you're so _tease-able."_

Rowena huffed. "Rude."

"You're just saying that 'cause you're having a bad day."

"And you're making it worse!" she accused.

"Oh, really?" An idea popped up in your mind. "How about I make it better?"

Rowena raised an eyebrow, sceptical. Suspicious.

She knew you too well.

Before she could respond, your hands were on her, all over her, touching — rubbing — everywhere in a flurry of tickles. She tried to bat at them, tried to get you to stop, to leave her be, but all attempts were futile.

You tickled her armpits, her tummy, her sides, fingers gliding and sliding over her shirt, under it, a restless, incessant attack.

You thought she would snap at you to leave her alone.

Instead, after a few moments of rolling her eyes and slapping at your wandering hands, she giggled.

And giggled and giggled and giggled until tears spilled from her eyes and her face lit up with joy, gloom and despair all but forgotten. Now it was all laughter, all fun, all happiness.

You laughed along as you curled your fingers against her skin over and over, eliciting joyful little squeaks that made your heart swell up with warmth.

Rowena was difficult to handle. She was opinionated and arrogant, a drama queen if you ever knew one.

Picky.

Childish.

Bratty.

A flawed, petty, formerly evil creature.

And yours.

Truly, unapologetically yours.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.


End file.
